The orchestra began to play again — slow, deliberate, like silk stretched over steel. Every note seemed to pulse through the marble floor as Kael extended his hand toward me.
"Shall we?"
It wasn't a question. It was a test.
I placed my hand in his, feeling the chill of his skin against mine — not lifeless, but controlled, calculated. He led me onto the center of the dance floor where the nobles instinctively parted, their gazes gleaming with hunger for scandal.
"Efficiently decided," I repeated under my breath, allowing him to guide the first turn. "That's one way to phrase an ambush."
Kael's lips quirked in a ghost of a smirk. "You'd prefer a declaration of war?"
"Depends on who's holding the sword," I countered. "But I assume you'd find that too predictable."
His eyes — dark, fathomless, almost shadow-slick — lingered on me as we turned again, every movement precise. "You read too much into everything, Lady Evandelle."
"And you read too little," I murmured, keeping my smile delicate for the onlookers. "Did you know about this arrangement?"
"I learned of it when you did," he replied evenly. "Your father is a strategist. Mine respects his logic. And the Council adores a spectacle."
"So we're a spectacle now?" I asked, voice dropping to a whisper only he could hear.
"A very profitable one," Kael said. "Your Gift, my lineage — the court will see it as balance. Order." His gaze sharpened. "And you hate it."
"Quite the deduction." I turned my head slightly, violet eyes meeting his shadowed ones. "I dislike being someone's tool."
"Then don't be," he said simply.
That stopped me mid-step. The dance faltered, a half-beat too long, before we recovered seamlessly. No one noticed — except Caelan, who stood at the edge of the floor, expression tight.
Kael's grip on my waist firmed slightly as we spun through the next turn, and something dark shimmered faintly around him — the whisper of Obsidian Dominion. His Gift wasn't active, not fully, but it was there — restrained power coiling under composure.
"I expected the famous Aether Requiem to be... louder," he said quietly. "You hide it well."
"I could say the same about your shadows," I replied, matching his tone. "Careful, Lord Dravenhart. People might mistake restraint for fear."
His expression flickered — interest, irritation, amusement, all in one heartbeat. "You mistake me, Lady Zelene. I'm not afraid of you."
"Good," I said softly, leaning closer as the music swelled. "You should be intrigued instead."
The final note rang through the ballroom like the echo of a blade being sheathed. Applause erupted. We bowed, our eyes still locked.
For everyone watching, it was the perfect display of harmony — two heirs united by destiny.
But beneath the polished veneer, an unspoken truth pulsed between us: neither of us intended to lose.
Hours later, the corridors were empty, save for the distant echo of servants cleaning the aftermath of luxury. I had stripped off the silks, my hair undone, the violet sheen of my eyes still catching candlelight as I made my way to my father's study.
The door was slightly ajar. Voices drifted out — low, deliberate.
"...it had to be tonight, Caelan. The Dravenharts are the sword arm of the kingdom. Without their alliance, we lose leverage in the Council."
"You should have warned her," Caelan argued, tone edged with rare anger. "You blindsided her in front of half the court."
"I needed authenticity," Alaric replied coldly. "Shock makes truth believable."
My hand tightened on the doorframe before I pushed it open.
"Believable," I repeated. "That's your justification?"
Both turned. My father — calm, regal, the strategist every noble feared — met my gaze without flinching. Caelan, on the other hand, looked ready to ignite.
"You've outdone yourself, Father," I said, stepping into the room. "I imagine this is one of your masterstrokes. Political theater. Very convincing."
"Sit down, Zelene." Alaric gestured to the chair across from him. "You'll need to understand before you condemn."
"I don't need to understand being auctioned off," I retorted, voice trembling with the restraint it took to stay civil. "We don't need Dravenhart steel or Dravenhart pride. We have influence, knowledge, diplomacy—"
"And none of that will save us," he interrupted sharply. "Not this time."
Silence hung like a guillotine blade.
Alaric leaned forward, eyes hard as amethyst. "The Northern Clans have joined forces under one banner. The Rosenwalds are retreating into their towers. The Valemonts are wavering. If the Dravenharts turn against us, Zelene, this kingdom will fall — and the Evandelles with it."
Caelan clenched his jaw. "You mean if they're not bound to us by blood."
"Exactly." Alaric's tone softened, but only slightly. "Kael Dravenhart is more than a soldier. He's his father's heir — disciplined, unyielding, and respected by every commander in the north. This alliance ensures our survival. And yours."
"Mine?" I scoffed. "You mean my usefulness."
Alaric's gaze wavered, just for a moment — and in that heartbeat, I saw something flicker beneath the strategist's mask. Not manipulation. Not politics. Fear.
"The court whispers about you, Zelene," he said quietly. "They fear what you can do. The Aether Requiem is a gift of influence — and influence breeds enemies. This engagement will shield you, for now. The Dravenhart name is armor. Use it."
The air left my lungs. For the first time, the logic hurt more than the betrayal.
"So I'm to be protected," I said softly. "By the same man who'll one day hold the blade meant for me."
"Not if you're clever," Alaric said, his voice low. "Not if you learn to play the board, not just move across it."
I stared at him, trying to find the man who'd once read me bedtime stories about starfall and heroes. He was gone — replaced by a tactician who loved his kingdom more than his children.
Caelan stood abruptly, fists clenched. "You could've told her. You didn't have to make her a pawn."
Alaric's eyes flicked to him, unyielding. "No, Caelan. I made her a queen."
The words echoed through the silence.
I rose, my pulse thrumming with the faint hum of the Requiem, the power that whispered of threads, fate, and choices.
"If I'm to be a queen," I said quietly, "then I'll learn how to command the board."
Alaric gave a slight nod — pride and warning mingled. "Start tonight."
As I turned to leave, Caelan caught my wrist, his voice low and fierce. "Don't let him turn you into him."
I smiled faintly, though my eyes burned. "Don't worry, brother. I intend to turn into something far worse."